


Times That Try Men's Souls: Jim

by elaine



Series: Times That Try Men's Souls [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-27
Updated: 2003-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair and Jim go through a trying time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Times That Try Men's Souls: Jim

 

The morning of one of the worst days of my life began pretty much as usual. It might be over eight years since I was an Army Ranger, but the instincts I developed during those years have never really left me. I didn't need the alarm to wake me, and from sleeping to fully alert still took less than a second. A quick audio check told me there was nothing out of the ordinary, and I swung my legs out of bed and headed down the stairs.

Sandburg was still sleeping, snuffling a little, as usual. I passed the closed doors of his room and made a pit stop in front of the john, then showered and shaved in about ten minutes. No matter what Sandburg says, I do _not_ use all the hot water.

On the way back to my bedroom, I knocked on Sandburg's door and gave him his first wakeup call. There was an incoherent mumble in response. That was SOP for this hour of the morning, and I went on my way upstairs. Since I wasn't due to give evidence in court, or meet the Mayor, or any other "official" duty, I just grabbed whatever clothes were most convenient and was downstairs again in less than five.

Another bang on Sandburg's door brought a grumbled complaint. I shrugged and went over to the coffee machine, got the first brew underway and sliced a couple of bagels. Sandburg says they're healthy, low in sodium or whatever. I just like them.

The coffee was ready by the time Sandburg appeared in his doorway in rumpled boxers and a tank, with his hair standing on end. I still haven't got used to it being short. It looks good, but I miss the old mop. I handed him the mug. He drank about half the coffee in one long gulp, then handed it back and disappeared into the bathroom. Sandburg just can't function without coffee that early in the morning.

I'd eaten my bagel and Sandburg's was just popping out of the toaster when he finally left the bathroom. At least he always _dressed_ quickly - I had the bagel spread with cream cheese and preserves just as he got back to the kitchen, now marginally awake. I put the bagel into one hand and the refilled coffee mug into the other. From there on in, he was on his own. My job was done.

* * *

We were on our way to interview a witness to a double homicide when the call came through. There was a robbery in progress in a liquor store on Fifth and Chester. That was only two blocks from where we were. Sandburg called in our response and I took a hard left at the next intersection.

As we turned the corner onto Chester, I saw the perp - who else would be wearing a balaclava on a warm spring morning? - as he burst out of the liquor store and ran in the opposite direction. "You see him?"

"Yep. He'll probably head down that alley that's just up ahead on the right." Sandburg grinned at my expression. "What? I used to just about live in this area when it still had second hand bookstores."

That figured. I pulled the truck to a screeching halt and we both piled out and hit the ground running. Sandburg had the advantage of me for a change. He knew the area, and the alley, littered with trash and boxes, meant my longer legs were not the advantage they usually were. Besides, he's been doing a lot of running since he went to the Academy, and he's getting pretty damn fast.

It's times like these that I really regret not being able to tell him to stay in the truck any more.

"Which way?" He called it back to me, well before we got to the end of the alley.

I listened. Running footsteps and yells off to the right. "Go right."

Sandburg burst out into the street, skidded slightly and took off. I was close behind, too close. The guy who'd ducked to avoid Sandburg ran right into me and we both went flying. Christ! I wanted to call to him to slow down, but it would have been a waste of breath.

By the time I got myself untangled from the guy, Sandburg was well over half a block ahead of me. I could see the perp even further ahead, but Sandburg was gaining on him.

"There's another alley just ahead," Sandburg's voice reached me easily, though his breathing was hard. "He'll probably go in there. There's a little cul de sac where he might be able to get over a fence if I don't get to him in time."

I pushed a little harder. It's amazing what you can do, if you have enough incentive. The gap between us was closing, but the gap between Sandburg and the perp was closing faster. Then they both turned into the alley.

Two pairs of footsteps, running. A door opening. A startled yell. Then Sandburg's voice, steady as a rock. "Police. Throw down your weapon and release the girl."

"Fuck you." The perp's voice sounded wrong; like he was high, or scared, or both.

God, no. I might have whispered it, as I stopped, just short of the alley. If I went bursting in there... I eased up to the corner, my gun already in my hand, and carefully looked around the edge of the old brick building.

Sandburg was about ten feet in front of me. He had his gun out and aimed at the perp. His stance was textbook perfect, both hands holding the weapon, arms extended just below shoulder height. His feet placed just right, knees slightly flexed.

Beyond him were two kids. The perp looked to be about twenty, his ebony skin gleaming with sweat, his eyes bright and wild. He was aiming a small handgun at the head of a girl still in the gangly teenaged stage, held in a choking grip across her throat. The kid was terrified, and for good reason. The perp was high on something, probably methaphetamine, and he was just about ready to explode.

"Come on, man. You don't want to do this." Blair's voice was gentle, reasonable. "I don't want to hurt you. You don't want to hurt the girl. Just let her go and we'll talk about this."

"No way, pig. Soon's I let her go you're gonna shoot me." The kid's eyes darted every which way. I pulled back a little. In the state he was in, if he saw me it would all be over. "You're gonna _shoot_ me!"

His voice cut across Sandburg's reasonable tones, repeating again and again "you're gonna shoot me."

"Tell you what. How about we both put down our guns?" The calm question nearly shocked a yell of outrage from me. But Sandburg wasn't stupid and he wasn't suicidal. Instinct told me he had no intention of actually doing it, but damn, he sounded convincing.

"How about you watch me blow her head off, if you don't fuck off outta here?" His voice was getting wilder, more wound up. He was going to blow any minute.

I risked another peek around the corner and saw that the perp's attention was so firmly fixed on Sandburg that I could have danced the Macarena in the mouth of the alley and he wouldn't have noticed. The hand that held the gun was shaking a little and his trigger finger began to tighten, so slightly that I wasn't sure if Sandburg had seen it.

He had. I saw the minute tensing of his shoulders and knew he was going to fire. Then three shots rang out, almost as one. The first and third had been Sandburg's, and they were true. The kid was dead before he began to fall, his finger squeezing the trigger in reflex action as his muscles spasmed. Luckily, the same spasming muscles jerked the muzzle of the gun skywards and the bullet missed the terrified girl by a hairsbreadth. Literally. I saw the long hair at her crown stir in the draft of the bullet.

Sandburg just stood there for a moment; then he lowered his weapon a little, keeping it trained on the body. I could have told him it was unnecessary, but it was procedure, and another time it might make the difference between his survival and death.

The girl was crouched by one of the brick walls, sobbing. Sandburg walked over to the body and kicked the gun out of reach before kneeling and putting his fingers to the perp's throat to check for a pulse. My chest tightened so much it hurt. I'd seen the bullets impact the kid's face; there was no way he could still be alive, and Sandburg had to know that.

"Jim?" His voice was quiet. He stood again, looking down at the body, as I walked towards him.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat when my voice came out husky. "Blair... you'd better call it in."

His head turned and he looked at me blankly, then holstered his gun and reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. People were starting to gather around the entrance to the alleyway, and I moved to stop any of them entering what was now a crime scene. Then I saw, much to my relief, a uniformed officer headed in our direction, his weapon drawn.

"Ellison, Major Crime." I held up my badge and nodded towards the other end of the alley. Sandburg was crouched down, talking to the girl. A curly blond head was poking out of the still open doorway, another kid. "My partner's down there. The perp took down a liquor store, was threatening to shoot the girl. Perp's dead."

He nodded, called it in on his radio, but I could already hear sirens approaching.

"Keep everyone back out of the way." I walked back into the alley to join my partner.

* * *

What followed was the kind of stuff, boring, necessary stuff, that they never show on TV. Witnesses interviewed and their names and contact details taken for follow up. The body bagged and removed. The area cordoned off so Forensics could go over it for evidence. It didn't matter that the perp had been caught red-handed, that the liquor store's owner could identify the money in his backpack. A civilian had died and another been threatened.

Through it all, Sandburg dealt with everyone calmly and with perfect control. He even gave his jacket to the girl, who'd been led away, still shaking, by a social worker. It seemed she and her brother had been dossing down in the back of an abandoned shop. When everything else had been done, I went over and stood beside him. He was pale and very quiet.

"You know the procedure?" It was an unnecessary question. Of course he did. He knew the regulations better than all of the rest of Major Crime put together.

"There'll be an investigation. IA will be involved." His voice sounded perfectly calm, almost distant. "I've already handed over my gun." He turned his head to look at me. There was no hint of emotion on his face, and his eyes were blank. "Can we get out of here now?"

"Sure." I wanted to do something. Touch him, put my arms around him or pat his face. I couldn't do that here, in front of the other cops. They all knew he hadn't been a cop long. They probably guessed this was the first time he'd shot to kill, and if I did what I wanted to do, they'd assume that it was because I didn't think he could cope.

What they'd never imagine was that I wanted to do it as much for my comfort as for Blair's. I'd brought him to this; the whole dissertation fiasco happened because I wouldn't give him a chance to explain, wouldn't work with him to deal with the fallout. He'd become a cop to be with me. And now he'd killed. Blair, who didn't like guns, who'd never wanted to harm anyone, had just killed a twenty-year-old boy.

* * *

Of course, by the time we got back to the station house, the word had spread. Silence fell when we walked into Major Crime. I don't think any of us had been prepared for this. Brown, Rafe, Connor, Joel; they all looked like kids who'd just found out Santa Claus didn't exist. None of them wanted to see Blair as a man who could kill.

"Hey, Blair." Joel's voice was soft, sympathetic.

Blair nodded. "Hi Joel."

It was Connor who did what none of us men could. She walked right up to Sandburg and hugged him briefly. "Are you all right, Sandy?"

"I'm okay." His voice didn't ring true, but his face was giving nothing away. "Thanks, Megan."

"Sandburg, Ellison." Simon jerked his head and we went over to his office door. "Come in. Sit."

He favoured Sandburg with a long stare. "I've already had a call from IA. They'll be on this floor to interview the two of you in about half an hour."

That figured, I thought sourly. "Not wasting any time, sir."

"No." Simon gestured towards the coffee machine. "Help yourself, both of you."

I went over and poured myself a mug. "Chief?"

He shook his head.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they use this as an excuse to bring up some old cases that we regard as settled. If you know what I mean." Simon took a swig of his coffee and sighed. "Truth is, they're still pretty pissed over the last time they investigated you."

"So they'll take it out on Sandburg." It didn't surprise me. "Damn it, Simon. Can't you do something?"

Simon glanced at Sandburg, who was being unusually silent. After a brief hesitation, he returned his attention to me. "If they step over the line, I'll be filing a complaint so fast... but we both know that there's plenty they'll be able to get away with, if they do it carefully enough."

"Yeah, I know." Both of us were trying hard not to watch Blair too obviously. Simon was beginning to look as worried as I felt. This silence just wasn't natural.

I wasn't going to call Sandburg on it; not right now. Whatever he needed to do to get through this, I'd support him one hundred percent. But, after all the paperwork was done and the interviews finished, I was going to get him out of there and give him a chance to let out all the emotions he was holding back right now.

"Well, we might as well get started on our reports." I ruffled the short curls casually and patted his shoulder. "C'mon, partner."

Sandburg nodded absently and pushed himself up out of his chair. I let him go ahead of me out of the office, then turned back. "Uh, sir..."

"Take him home." Simon waved his hand dismissively. " _After_ all your paperwork's done."

"Thank you, sir." But there was something more I wanted from Simon. "I was hoping you could observe Sandburg's interview. Just in case IA decide to take their issues with me out on the kid."

"They'd better not." Simon's lips thinned. "I'll make sure they know I'm watching."

That was all I could hope for. I nodded my thanks and closed the office door.

* * *

The interview went pretty much as I'd expected. I'd thought that Sheila Irwin and I had buried our differences over the Brackley case, but apparently not. I wasn't too concerned about her, or my part in the shooting, which had been minimal, so most of my attention was centred on trying to hear how Sandburg's interview was going.

Mostly, he seemed to be holding his own, but his heartbeat was fast and his breathing far too controlled. I was glad Simon was there to keep a lid on IA's aggression. So far as I'd been able to hear, the interviewing officer hadn't been able to make any impression on Blair's account of events.

"Detective Ellison!" Sheila's voice, sharp with irritation, cut through Blair's calm recital. "Is it too much to ask for your complete attention?"

"Sorry." I rubbed my forehead and frowned. "Yes, I can confirm that Sandburg identified himself correctly to the perpetrator. He tried to talk the guy down, but the kid was hopped up on something. He... he was on edge. Just before Sandburg shot him, I saw the kid's finger start to squeeze the trigger."

"So there's no doubt in your mind that Sandburg was justified in shooting." She tilted her head, her mouth pursing sourly. "Bearing in mind that he also put an innocent bystander's life at risk."

"No doubt at all. He's not some trigger happy rookie." I stared her in the eye, daring her to argue. "The girl was in serious danger of being shot in the head at point blank range."

"And you saw all this from... how far away?"

"Sandburg was ten feet in front of me. The kid was maybe another ten feet further in." I smiled calmly. "There was plenty of light and my eyesight, as you probably know, is in perfect condition."

She countered smoothly. "I know that you've previously claimed to be able to see things that many other officers couldn't."

"Twenty feet isn't that far."

"I suppose not." I heard the note of defeat in her voice.

It didn't bring me any satisfaction. She'd long ago made her assessment of me and if she couldn't find anything dirty this time, she'd just try all the harder next time. For myself, I didn't much care, but this was going to impact on Blair too.

I sighed and decided for Blair's sake to make an effort. "Look, Sheila, he's a good cop. He's everything the force needs these days - smart, dedicated, socially aware. Whatever you think of me, don't let it colour your attitude on Sandburg."

"Of course not." She looked back at me, a bland smile on her face. "That would be unprofessional."

"Are we done here?" I leaned back in my chair, wondering why I'd wasted my breath.

"For the moment."

"Thanks." I stood and walked out without bothering with the niceties. Now that I could give more attention to Blair, I didn't like what I was hearing. The interviewer was pressing hard and Blair's voice was becoming more and more calm and quiet in response, but his heart rate was through the roof. Simon should be stepping in. If he didn't do something soon, _I_ would.

On cue, I heard the interview room door open and Simon's most sarcastic tone asking if they were done yet? By the time I reached the door, Sandburg was on his feet. His eyes met mine briefly, and it was as though a stranger had taken up residence inside my partner.

I pushed the thought aside. It was late afternoon, and we hadn't had lunch, which provided a convenient excuse to get him out of there. "Chief, I'm going down to Hatcher's Deli. You want to come with?"

"Can't." He shook his head. "The initial post mortem results should be back by now. I'm just going down to the morgue..."

"Okay, we'll go after that." I fell into step beside him. As little as I wanted him to go down there, I wasn't going to argue with him right now. "I'm betting he was high on something."

"I think so." He was all business, not a trace of the real Blair showing. I'd seen hints of this before. In difficult situations he'd managed to damp down his feelings, but never to this degree. His heartbeat had slowed a little, but the sharp scent of his distress made me want to reach out to him in a way that was impossible in the station and would only make it more difficult for him to remain in control.

* * *

The visit to the morgue was every bit as bad as I'd expected. I heard Sandburg's sharp intake of breath as Dan pulled the cover back off the body's upper half. I'd seen more gruesome sights in my life, but that wasn't the point. I moved half a step closer to Blair so my arm was brushing his shoulder.

He didn't so much as look at me. "Any ID yet?"

"Yeah." Dan looked from my face to Blair's. I knew he liked Sandburg and he was obviously picking up on the tension. "Fingerprints matched an Otis Washington. Aged twenty-one. Juvie records for minor crime and drugs related offences. We won't have the toxicology report for another hour or two." He shrugged unapologetically at my grimace. "Sorry. I'm down by two staff today. We're behind on everything."

"Tomorrow's soon enough." I put my hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "C'mon, Chief. Let's go get lunch."

He accepted that, and I steered him out of the morgue, but then he stepped away from me. "I'm not hungry, Jim. I'll go finish..."

"Simon told me we should take the rest of the day off." Not that there was a lot left of it.

Blair stared down at the floor. "Because of me?"

"Nobody's judging you, Blair. D'you think any of us had an easy time, the first time we had to kill someone?" I saw a shudder pass though him. "We've all been there."

He nodded, still not looking up.

Two uniformed cops turned the corner into our part of the corridor. I saw them exchange a glance. "How about we talk about this somewhere else?"

* * *

It was ironic, I guess, that I was the one trying to get Sandburg to talk about his feelings. God knows there couldn't be anyone less suited for that particular role than me. I didn't even try on the way home, or in the lift going up to the third floor. Whatever was going to come out, it would be better done in private.

What I didn't expect was that, even there, Sandburg wouldn't open up. He neatly side-stepped my attempt to hug him so that my fingers barely brushed his shoulder.

"I gotta..." He gestured vaguely towards the bathroom and, disconcerted, I let him go. I even refrained from listening in, knowing that if he began retching, I'd hear it anyway.

As he came past on the way back, I was strategically placed beside the fridge, a beer in either hand. He took the one I passed him with barely a murmur of thanks and I followed him to the living area. He sat on the couch. I sat on the loveseat.

He took a sip of his beer, pulled a face, and then began picking at the label with his fingernail, apparently totally absorbed in this task. Taking a mouthful of my own beer I mentally reviewed some opening lines and discarded them all. Hell, this was Sandburg's area of expertise, not mine.

Finally, I managed to come up with "I'll make some lasagne for dinner. Okay?"

Blair nodded absently.

I can make a pretty mean lasagne when I put my mind to it. I pulled out all the stops on this one, and never mind that it took a couple of hours. As I chopped, grated, and stirred I was watching Blair, and all he did the whole time was to pick at that damn beer label and take an occasional sip from the bottle. He didn't even turn on the TV, and I didn't suggest it. There was a good chance that the shooting would be on the evening news. Not only did I not want Blair to see it, I was pretty sure they'd drag up all the old stuff about the dissertation, and that was still a tender spot between us.

In defiance of the house rules, I piled the lasagne and salad onto two plates and carried them and the cutlery over to the couch. Blair didn't look up as I placed his plate on the coffee table in front of him. The label was almost gone now, and there was a scattering of tiny fragments all over the floor in front of him. I didn't say anything.

He didn't touch the food. I ate about half of mine in silence and then cleared my throat.

"Don't." Blair was swishing the beer around in the bottle and watching the bubbles. "I can't talk about it just yet. I need to... process."

I've seen him process before. It usually involves weird music, burning candles and, if it's really serious, burning sage. This wasn't anything like processing. But I nodded understandingly. "Okay. Want another beer?"

If he understood it was a blatant attempt to get him drunk, he didn't show it. "No, thanks. I'm good."

He was anything but good, but I didn't say that. I finished my meal and took the plates back into the kitchen. Washed up and put away, and then cleaned everything in sight. I _wasn't_ going to hover. I was going to give him the space he so obviously wanted, and I'd be ready to pick up the pieces when he finally fell apart.

* * *

Except that he _didn't_ fall apart. Not through all that incredibly long evening. He didn't talk either.

I know I've made jokes in the past about Sandburg's propensity for long, rambling stories - not to mention the amazingly high BS quotient of most of them - but to sit in a large living room with a totally silent Sandburg is an eerie experience. It made the place seem uncomfortably small as Sandburg's silence filled up all the spaces in the room and began to press in on me.

Since beer wasn't making much of an impression - he still hadn't quite finished that bottle - I decided to try coffee. By one a.m. he'd drunk five mugs of Simon's best Mocha Java. It was obvious he wasn't going to sleep that night. Even so, I was drinking more coffee than he was, and still trying to stifle my yawns.

"Go to bed, Jim." Blair mumbled the words, looking down at his clasped hands. "No reason for both of us to be awake."

I could have argued, but there was no point. I patted him on the shoulder as I passed him and made a last visit to the bathroom before heading upstairs. There was no way I was going to sleep, but Blair didn't need to know that.

There was a grim satisfaction in keeping vigil over my partner, my best friend. I would have given anything to protect him from this, but since it wasn't possible, I could at least watch over him. I stripped down to my boxers and lay on the bed with the light off and easily fell into a half-waking, half-sleeping state that I'd learned in the Rangers. It wasn't as restful as real sleep, but I'd know the moment anything happened.

But nothing _did_ happen. Just, once in a while, Blair would make himself another coffee, and there were a couple of trips to the bathroom - hardly surprising with all the coffee he'd drunk. Every time I surfaced a little, I checked his breathing and heartbeat. Finally, as the sky began to lighten, around five a.m., I got up, pulled on my robe and went downstairs.

Blair looked over at me, still sitting on the couch. It was beginning to seem like he'd frozen up inside and couldn't find a way to break out. I guess I knew how that felt, but I'd had him to help me. _He_ only had me.

I thought about that while I pissed and washed up afterwards. For some reason Blair cared about me. So much that he'd thrown away what had been sure to be a brilliant career. Now he was hurting and I was being too damned chickenshit to help him. I was waiting for him to take the first step, like I always did, and he couldn't do it on his own. I had to take that step for him.

Summoning all that famed Ranger intestinal fortitude, I went over to Blair and sat on the coffee table facing him. I leaned forward and put my hands lightly on his thighs, just above the knees.

"Blair, I..." the words dried up before I could get them out. He looked at me with an expression of polite disinterest. "You did absolutely the right thing. I would have done the same in your place. You saved that girl's life, and probably your own as well, and... and..." my chest and throat tightened painfully, "your life is important to me, okay?"

"I know, Jim." He smiled sadly. "I know. And, given the same situation, I'd do it again. But the world's a different place for me, now."

That, I understood. It had taken me months to accept it, when I killed a man in combat that first time. I'd wanted to believe I could still be the same person I'd been before. "Taking a life... killing someone... it isn't - shouldn't be - easy. But you did it to protect an innocent bystander. Don't ever forget that."

He shook his head slightly, not in negation, but as a sign he couldn't go any further right now. Satisfied with that tiny amount of progress we'd made, I patted his knee. "Go to bed, try to sleep. Okay? I'll call Simon and tell him we won't be in today."

"All right." He pushed himself up off the couch and walked, weaving slightly, in the direction of his room. Helplessly, I followed, wishing there was more I could do than offer a few words.

Just a few feet from his room he stopped. His shoulders slumped wearily. I had no idea what it was that made him do that, but for me it was the last straw. I couldn't bear to see him hurting like this for another second and not do anything about it. I stepped up behind him, turned him around and pulled him into my arms. He leaned against me, passive and silent as I rubbed up and down his back with one hand and cradled the back of his head with the other. Then I kissed him.

It wasn't the first time I'd kissed Blair. But all the other times it had been one of those joking things between us. Like the way I'd swat his forehead, or ruffle his hair, or pat his face. Somewhere along the way it got to be not so funny any more, and lately there hadn't been too much of that happening. I'd missed it, but I'd thought it was for the best. Now, the only thing that mattered was to comfort him, so I brushed my lips against his temple, just above his eyebrow, where I'd kissed him once or twice before.

Only this time it was different; it wasn't a joke, it was serious. It was real; as real as any kiss I'd ever had. He moaned deep in his throat, and wrapped his arms around my waist. I kissed him again, on the same spot. "It'll be all right, Blair. I promise."

The tangy scent of salt rose sharply from my shoulder, though I couldn't feel any dampness. Then Blair turned his face up to me, and his lashes were spiky with tears. His lips quivered a little as he tried to smile, and failed miserably. So I kissed them.

He seemed to melt against me then, making another muffled sound in his throat. I cupped my hand along his jaw, scratchy with almost twenty-four hours worth of beard, and brushed my thumb over his cheek, up higher where it was smooth. We held that kiss for a dozen heartbeats and then I drew back.

"Jim." He sighed my name and tilted his head, inviting a replay.

I should have stopped it then. He was so needy he would have done anything to keep me with him. I should have... but I'm no good with words, and I understood that - maybe for the first time in his life - words had failed Blair too. This time the kiss seemed to melt into both of us, uniting us in its heat.

Before it was over I knew that it wasn't going to end in just a kiss. Maybe that should have bothered me, but it didn't. In some way I didn't really understand, we'd been heading towards this since the day we met. I began to walk him backwards, through the doors and into his room. I removed his shirt easily, unbuttoning and sliding it off his shoulders. The T-shirt was more difficult, until Blair realised that he'd have to help by lifting his arms. When it was gone, his hands burrowed inside my robe and soon that was on the floor too.

Pushing him down onto the bed seemed like a good idea, and had the bonus of making it easier to get his jeans off. That left him in a pair of blue cotton boxers and a pair of fine woollen Argyle socks. I surveyed him for a moment, while he struggled up onto his elbows and then reached out a hand to me. I took it and allowed him to pull me down on top of him.

Both pairs of boxers, his and mine, went rapidly southward. There was no finesse, just desperate grappling; Blair to take comfort, me to give it. I needed this almost as much as he did. Very quickly, we fell into a rhythm of rough thrusting and grinding; crude, but effective. Blair arched up towards me, and our mouths met again, as hungry as the movements of our hips. His legs came up and wrapped around my lower back; his hips pumped furiously and he came with a ragged groan. I eased him back down onto the futon and stretched my body over his, moving a little more sensuously now that the urgency had passed.

"Yes..." he sighed against my lips and stroked both hands down my sides. "Jim."

I shuddered and groaned, then kissed him again as the climax rushed through me. I heard him gasp as the heat spread slick between us, then the thing that I'd been waiting for all night finally happened.

At first it just seemed that his breathing became a little more ragged. I wasn't fooled, though; I'd smelt the salty tang in the air. I rolled onto my side in the narrow bed, dragging Blair with me, and he burrowed into my chest as the sobs became louder, and more uncontrollable. Soon, the whole bed was shaking with the force of them and I felt like crying myself for the pain he was feeling. Hell, I _did_ cry, a bit.

Eventually, when he was too exhausted to cry any more, I took stock of our condition. Blair was as limp as an overcooked noodle, and between our semen and his tears - not to mention snot - most of the front of my body was in a seriously disgusting and slippery state. Much as I wanted to let him rest, I knew he'd thank me later if I didn't.

"Chief?" I stroked the sweat damp curls. "I think we both could do with a shower. You want to join me?"

He blinked up at me, his mind not really processing the words; then a little of his usual intelligence gleamed through the fatigue. "Yeah. That would be good."

"Okay." I got up, feeling more than a little noodle-like myself, and held out a hand to pull him to his feet.

We made it to the bathroom with not much of a contribution to the effort from Blair. In the shower, I had to hold him upright on the slippery tiles, so I could wash us both down. In better circumstances it might have been fun. Now, my main concern was to get us both cleaned up and in a decent state to catch some much needed sleep. I could probably have gone another day without proper sleep, but no way was I leaving Blair alone, so that made the point irrelevant.

He didn't even seem to notice that I was leading him upstairs, but I didn't think he'd enjoy sleeping in a messed up bed stinking of sex and tears. He tumbled into my bed without any apparent concern and rolled into a ball, facing away from the stairs.

It took all the energy I had to make my way downstairs to call Simon, explain the situation - some of it, anyway - and return to my bedroom. I slid into the bed, curled myself around Blair's body and fell asleep.

* * *

The first hint that Blair was waking brought me out of sleep in an instant. His breathing had quickened, his heartbeat was elevated; I wondered if he was dreaming about Otis Washington. I moved a little closer, tightening my arms around him and nuzzling his neck.

Blair sighed, and stirred a little more; then I felt his body tense. His head turned slightly, then his whole body, until he was lying on his back. I rubbed his chest gently, waiting for him to give me some sign of how he felt about this whole thing. His gaze moved from my face to the skylights and then around the room, as though he'd never seen it before.

When his eyes came back to mine, they were troubled. "So... um... was this some kind of pity fuck?"

With an opening like that, how could I resist? I grinned. "We haven't actually fucked yet."

His eyes widened. Then he smiled weakly, and I knew he was going to be all right.

 

 


End file.
